


An Itch Needs Scratching

by Zaxal



Series: Kinktober 2018 [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Masochism, Sadism, Subspace, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 18:20:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16331147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaxal/pseuds/Zaxal
Summary: For Kinktober Day 5: Sadism/Masochism.





	An Itch Needs Scratching

Pain was a fact of life. It was life’s greatest teacher, the de facto source of negative reinforcement.

His relationship with pain was… complicated. He was used to it; hunter training came with endless aches and pains, bruises and cuts, exhaustion and tension headaches, and, at times, he wished he could become numb to it. Becoming numb to it would be a death sentence. So Chris was stuck needing to acknowledge it, allow it to happen, and, ignore it no matter how deep inside it tore into him.

But then this-

This was different.

A sharp claw-prick pulled him out of his head. “Peter,” he hissed warningly.

Peter rolled his eyes, scraping the flat of his claw over Chris’s nipple again, practically circling it until Chris was arching off the forest floor, anticipation zipping through his nerves like electricity. “Would you hurry up?”

“Patience, Christopher,” Peter said with a toothy smirk. “I’m told it’s a virtue.”

“Go to hell.”

Peter tutted. “Now _that_ is no way to talk to the person who’s made you soak through your boxers.”

Heat crawled up Chris’s neck and face, but, as true as it was, he couldn’t just lay there and take it. “Come _on_.”

“I quite like having you here,” Peter informed him, grinding down on Chris’s lap. Chris’s hips bucked, a hiss in his throat. “Waiting for me to scratch that itch of yours.”

“It scratches yours, too,” Chris pointed out, breathing a little heavier as finally, finally, Peter sliced methodically parallel to the line of his collarbone with the tip of a claw. The pain wasn’t like what he usually put up with, dull and stinging. It was sharp, bright, and Chris’s dick throbbed in his jeans. His eyes lost their focus for just a moment, and when he came back, it was to Peter watching him with a wolf’s hungry eyes, the golden glow familiar and comforting in a way it never should have been.

“Christopher,” Peter said, a question hanging in the word.

“Yeah. Just-”

“Where no one can see,” Peter agreed readily, and Chris knew better, knew it was playing with fire, but the second line was even better than the first. Peter drew it from the first, creating a branch as if a tree had taken root and then grown downward.

“No scars,” Chris repeated an old refrain, fighting off the space he always fell in when this happened, when the world around him dulled and all he had to focus on were the fireworks of sensation.

“I know,” Peter said calmly, all signs of teasing and taunting gone from his voice. “Relax, Argent.” He twisted his wrist, flicking off a chunk of skin that would take longer to heal.

His jaw went slack as he moaned, finally slipping away from hypervigilance, from the constant drum of his thoughts, his training, the precarious balance he and Peter had found in the midst of all of this. His eyes fluttered closed, and he was left with sensation, and with Peter’s voice, rougher than usual, almost a growl.

“God, you look incredible.”

Chris hummed an acknowledgment. Peter took another shallow chunk of skin, causing Chris to gasp.

“I wish I could leave them, I wish they’d be waiting for me every time you took your shirt off.”

“Wouldn’t get to make new ones.”

“That’s the bitch of it, yeah,” Peter agreed. “Jesus, Chris, you smell wonderful.”

“Mm.”

Peter’s hand lay flat on the cuts he’d made on Chris’s chest, and even pressed against his warm skin, Chris could feel them tremble. “It’s okay, Hale.”

“Promise?” Peter laughed, a touch of mania in it.

“I wouldn’t let anyone else do this,” Chris promised. “No person.” He opened his eyes to see Peter looming over him, desperation in his eyes. “No wolf.”

The decision to end the game came with Peter’s veins flowing black, the pain that Chris had been reveling in flowing from Chris into Peter. The cuts scabbed over quickly and healed so that soon, all that remained was Peter’s handprint in Chris’s blood.

Peter scrambled with their flies, and Chris brought himself back around enough to check their surroundings before sitting up, taking Peter’s cock in his hand as Peter took his, and kissing his best friend as they both rose towards climax together.


End file.
